


Remembering Flight

by Periazhad



Series: pack [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Wolves, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Canonical Character Death, Dick Grayon is a pup, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Pack, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:56:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29644728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periazhad/pseuds/Periazhad
Summary: There’s a sickening snap, a scream, and then there are two bodies sprawled unnaturally on the ground. All around him are people yelling and panicking, but Bruce only has eyes for the little boy staring down at his parents. He blinks and the boy is gone; there’s a wolf, a pup, alone on the platform howling.Bruce could never say, later, how he got to the front so quickly, but he was there to catch the pup as he jumped.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Series: pack [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2178348
Comments: 36
Kudos: 372





	Remembering Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Ise for correcting all the weird grammar errors I make (she says I show "marked improvement" and if that's not a reason to be smug I don't know what is).
> 
> Also appreciate her delicate firmness in pointing out that although I have a great vocabulary, an eight-year-old isn't going to be using words like "incredulous" and "gingerly", and just generally reminding me to think like a kid.

There’s a sickening snap, a scream, and then there are two bodies sprawled unnaturally on the ground. All around him are people yelling and panicking, but Bruce only has eyes for the little boy staring down at his parents. He blinks and the boy is gone; there’s a wolf, a pup, alone on the platform howling. 

Bruce could never say, later, how he got to the front so quickly, but he was there to catch the pup as he jumped. He turns so the pup can’t see the bodies, holding him firmly.

The pup is whining, fighting him, but Bruce won’t let him see anymore. 

“Shh, pup, shhh. Don’t look,” he whispers.

What was his name? Bruce saw it on the posters. The Flying Graysons: John, Mary, and...Richard. “Shhh, Richard, shh, don’t look. I’ve got you now.” The pup whimpers, but thankfully stills at his name. Bruce holds him firmly, walking away from the blood pooling,

When the police finally come, the pup is settled in his lap and Bruce is stroking his fur gently. Bruce has talked to the owner, Jack Haly; they’d be happy to keep the boy, Dick, with them, but they both know the system will never let an orphaned boy stay with a circus. The only hope was if there was a full pack who could fight for him, but there are no other wolves. The pup is alone.

Not alone, Bruce thinks, cuddling him. Never alone.

\---

Letting the pup out of his sight to go collect his things with the circus folk was harder than he would have imagined. He’d only been with the boy an hour, and already his need to protect and provide for his pack was overwhelming.

But Dick needed a chance to say goodbye and take what he wanted, and Bruce needed to confer with social services. He’s not a registered foster parent, not yet, although he’s already texted his attorney to start the process. 

This is one of the first times he can remember being thankful to be so recognizable, to have influence to leverage, and to have an attorney who will respond to him any time of the day.

There are some statutes about packs having higher priority for orphaned pups and, although Bruce isn’t exactly an established pack, he  _ is _ a wolf. His lawyer texting him advice, Bruce presses his shifter status and mentions all the good a large donation could do. His lawyer didn’t recommend the last part, but Bruce knows money gets anything done in Gotham.

In the end, they don’t object to him taking Dick. He’s horrified, internally, because he’s sure at least one of them thinks he’s a pedophile and they’re  _ still _ letting him Dick away. Batman has more work to do.

When Dick comes back, he’s carrying a small bag, looking pale and drawn. 

“Dick?” Bruce crouches down. “Is this all you want?” 

Dick nods, not looking up.

Bruce looks to the man behind Dick. “He didn’t want any of this parent’s things?”

“The circus travels light, Mr. Wayne.” Something about the tone sets Bruce on edge and he wants to push, but mostly he wants to get Dick somewhere away from all of this, away from everything will remind him of watching his parents die. Bruce can buy him anything he wants or needs.

\---

Dick feels as though he’s moving underwater; everything is muffled and distant. He saw his parents fall and die, he collected the things he was allowed to take, but nothing feels solid. It’s a dream. When he wakes up, his mom will be singing while she makes breakfast, and his dad will help him through his morning stretches. None of this is actually real.

He has only bits and pieces. He can’t recall actually leaving the circus, but he remembers sitting in a car. He can’t picture the outside of the house he’s in, but somehow he’s standing in a huge bedroom. He doesn’t even realize he’s with a shifter until he hears him call the room a den.

“You’re a wolf!” he blurts out, the surprise suddenly making everything feel real.

“Yes?” Mr. Wayne sounds uncertain. “That’s why the social workers thought you should stay with me. Is that a problem? We can certainly find you another home—”

“No,” Dick says hastily. “No, Mr. Wayne, please, I want to be with another wolf. I just… didn’t know.” He’s always lived with wolves. 

“Dick, please, call me Bruce.”

_ Bruce _ . Dick thinks he’s been told that before. It’s hard to remember, mostly because he’s trying very hard not to remember anything.

“Do you want to eat dinner? Or did you want to go back to your room? I know you didn’t bring much from the circus; we could go out and get you whatever else you might need.”

Dick is barely listening. He doesn’t even remember being shown another room. Staring longingly at the bed in the den, he wants to be a wolf. It’s easier, as the wolf. Feelings don’t hurt as much, everything is simpler, and maybe Bruce will hold him again. He remembers being held and shielded from—

“Can I sleep in this den?” He asks abruptly, dragging his mind away. He doesn’t want to sleep all alone in a strange room, and Mr. Way—Bruce is a wolf, he’ll understand.

“Of course you can, Dick.” He sounds gentle, and Dick doesn’t want him to be gentle, because then he remembers  _ why _ everyone has been so gentle with him. He just wants to be done with today, so he can wake up and it will all have been a terrible dream. “Maybe some dinner first? Alfred can heat us up something.”

Dick shakes his head. He doesn’t feel hungry, just heartsick and tired. His throat is tight, his eyes stinging, so he shifts. Without looking at Bruce, he jumps onto the bed. It smells like Bruce, like strange alpha. He wants  _ his _ alpha, his dad, and he whines.

There’s another wolf with him, then, much larger, the strange alpha. He whines again, and the alpha nudges him into the center of the bed. He stumbles over there and curls up, still whining. The alpha curls up around him, pressing close.

He stops whining when there’s a knock and the door to the room opens. “Did anyone want supper? Ah, I see. It  _ has _ been an exhausting day. Perhaps I shall just turn off the lights.” There’s a pause, and when neither wolf does anything, he flicks off the lights. “Sleep well, Master Bruce and Master Richard.” He quietly leaves the room.

This is the largest den he’s ever been in. Everything was smaller at the circus, and he liked that. He wants to go back, but mostly he wants his parents. He whines again, pressing back against the strange alpha, because some comfort is better than no comfort. Anything is better than being cold and alone.

\---

Bruce stayed awake all night, to keep away both their nightmares. He shifted back into a human when Dick was deeply asleep, and was glad when Dick did the same later in the night. It can be less disorienting to wake up as a human.

Dick stirs, waking up. He rubs his eyes and says, “Mom?” Bruce’s heart twists.

There’s confusion on Dick’s face when he opens his eyes, and then he looks gutted. “Mom?” His voice is desperate, now. “Dad?” Dick looks at Bruce, his eyes filling with tears. “I want my mom and dad!”

_ Oh, kiddo _ , Bruce thinks helplessly,  _ me too _ . “I’m sorry, Dick,” is all he can make himself say.

Tears spill down his cheeks as he repeats, “I want my mom and dad!” A pause, his breath hitching, and then he says, “I want to go  _ home _ .” His voice breaks on the last word and he’s fully sobbing. 

Tentatively, Bruce leans down to gather Dick into his arms.

“I want my mom, I want my dad; I want my _home_.” He doesn’t resist Bruce, instead he turns his face into Bruce’s chest. “I want to _go_ _home_.”

At least when Bruce’s world shattered, he got to go home. He had Alfred, he had a familiar space and a familiar routine in which to bury himself. This tiny pup has nothing except a painfully small bag.

Bruce rubs a hand along his back, trying to offer what comfort he can. There isn’t much comfort to be had in the loss of your entire world, but Bruce will be damned if he doesn’t try. 

“I’m supposed—I’m supposed to do exercises with my Dad in the morning.” Dick is still sobbing, almost incoherent. “We have to do it  _ every _ morning or else—or else—”

“Shhhh,” Bruce whispers. “I’m sure you can skip a day.”

Dick twists in his arms and angrily says, “I  _ can’t _ , he  _ said _ , we’re not supposed to skip a day!”

“Well, then, you and I can do them.” What else can he say?

At Bruce’s easy acquiescence, Dick’s anger dissolves and tears spill down his face again. “I’m supposed to do them with  _ him _ , not—not anyone else. They don’t know the right moves, or what’s needed for my tricks, and—” He buries his face back into Bruce’s chest, sobbing.

Bruce doesn’t say that he knows a lot of stretches and exercises, nor does he doesn’t tell him that they can figure it out or hire an acrobatic expert. He remembers this pain; Dick doesn’t really care about the stretches, he cares that his Dad isn’t here to do it with him. That’s one thing that Bruce can’t give him.

Dick’s fingers twist into Bruce’s sleep shirt, clinging fiercely, and in response Bruce tightly wraps his arms around him.

“I want  _ Zitka _ ,” he sobs and Bruce doesn’t even know who that is. If it’s someone from the circus Dick was close with, perhaps Bruce could hire them and keep that contact for Dick.   
  
“Who is Zitka?” he asks gently.

“She—she’s my responsibility. I need to feed her, she won’t let anyone else feed her!” Dick’s voice is rising, and Bruce tries to hush him. “They won’t—no one will take care of her like I do! I have to go  _ back, _ let me go  _ back _ !”

Bruce would, if he could, if a circus with no pack was any place for a child to be raised.

“Is Zitka one of the animals at the circus?” Perhaps Dick would want a pet once he’s settled into the manor.

Dick shudders, his body relaxing a little, and says, “She’s an elephant.” Almost angrily he adds, “She’s  _ mine _ ; no one else takes care of her.”

Bruce doesn’t know what to say. Someone else certainly  _ is _ taking care of her now, but telling that to Dick won’t help. 

“I’m sure you took great care of her.”

Dick pulls back to look up at him. “I still could!  _ Please _ , Bruce, let me go back to the circus! Please, let me go back home!” The hopeful pain in Dick’s voice feels like a knife twisting in Bruce’s chest. He didn’t expect to feel like a monster for taking in an orphan. “Please,  _ please _ , let me go  _ home _ .” When Bruce is silent, Dick’s expression falls and he slumps back onto Bruce’s chest. 

“Please, I want to go home.” His voice is small and defeated as more tears soak through Bruce’s shirt. Bruce fights back tears of his own. Crying himself isn’t going to help Dick.

He’s not going to force Dick to stay here, but social services won’t let him stay with the circus. Holding the shaking body, he wonders if maybe he  _ should  _ try to get Dick placed back with the circus. They let him take Dick home; he can use some of that influence to get the pup back where he wants to go.

“I don’t even—they wouldn’t let me—I don’t even have any pictures of them.” Bruce’s chest aches, and he plans to call Jack Haly as soon as he and Dick are done. Surely someone has a copy of a picture of his parents’. Bruce will pay them if that’s what it takes.

“I’ll call them and ask, chum. Someone might have one, and we’ll get you a copy.”

Dick sniffles, tears slowing, breath still hitching. He whispers, “They—they wouldn’t even let me take their  _ clothes _ . I don’t even have anything of their scent, what if—what if I forget it?”

Bruce forces down a subvocal growl before Dick can feel it. The nebulous idea of getting Dick back to the circus vanishes. He smooths a hand over his pup’s hair, saying, “They didn’t let you take your parents’ things?”

“They said—they said it all belonged to the circus, and since I wasn’t part of the circus anymore, it wasn’t mine to take.” Bruce is  _ definitely _ calling Jack Haly. That’s—if it was money, surely they knew money wasn’t an issue. He’d have paid them whatever they wanted.

For a moment, the idea of ruining the circus just for hurting Dick has its appeal, but Bruce already knows Dick loves the circus. It’s the only thing left now that will remind him of his parents, and Bruce wouldn’t take that from him for any amount of satisfaction. He’ll pay them whatever they want for any of the Graysons’ things and any photos.

“I’ll call them, Dick, and I’ll get any pictures they have and their clothes.” By any means necessary.

Dick stiffens and says, “You don’t have to do that, it’s fine.”

The blatant lie tugs at Bruce’s heart and he says, “I want to do it.”

A silence, broken only by Dick’s soft sniffles. Then he says, “Why couldn’t I have fallen, too?” Before Bruce can think past the shock of the idea of this little boy sprawled and broken on the ground, Dick shifts and howls his grief.

His small body trembling, he howls again and again. Bruce listens helplessly, running his hands gently through his fur. Trying to give him whatever comfort he can, knowing nothing he does will make a difference. Nothing can bring his parents back.

Dick eventually quiets. Other than the tremors sporadically running through him, he’s unnaturally still.

Still petting him, Bruce starts to talk. “Dick, I didn’t just take you home because I’m a wolf. When I was your age, my parents were murdered in front of me.” 

There’s a shift of movement under his hands, and Dick licks him.

Smiling affectionately down at him, Bruce continues. “I know what it’s like to lose my parents and be without a pack. No child deserves that.” His smile drops as he shifts, suddenly uncomfortable. “I may not be much of a pack, but I’m here for you.” Bruce never wanted more of a pack before now, until he wanted a warm family to wrap around this shocked, bereaved pup.

They sit there, silently, until Dick shifts back. He looks at Bruce as he shakily asks, “Am I going to see them falling forever?”

It’s been two decades since Bruce witnessed his parents’ murder, and he saw their bodies superimposed on the ground just last night. He can’t say no, but he can’t say yes.

“I hope not. I hope you remember them smiling at you, telling you a story, kissing you goodnight. Remember the good, and the bad will fade.” Fade, but not go away. It never goes away.

Dick’s face twists with pain and sadness, and Bruce’s heart aches. They sit in silence for a moment.

“What do you think about breakfast this morning?” Bruce knows the grief isn’t gone, will never be gone, but life always continues, no matter how painful the loss. 

Bruce can see Dick shove away the sadness and grief as he says, “I guess I am hungry.” The only signs left of his emotional devastation are a trembling lip and over-bright eyes.

\---

Bruce is glad Dick has fond memories of the circus, because after that conversation with Haly he’s left with none himself. Of course, Haly claims he doesn’t know who stopped Dick from taking his parents’ things, but Bruce finds he doesn’t even care if it’s true or not. The important thing is that they’re packing up John and Mary’s things, all of them this time, and asking around for photos. Bruce offered an absurdly large sum for each unique photo, promising to send back high quality copies.

Everything should arrive at the Manor tonight.

\---

Dick feels hollowed out by his grief. He has no more tears, no more anger, and is left with an aching emptiness. He eats breakfast, gets shown back into his room with the private bathroom, and changes clothes. When Alfred sees how few clothes he has, because they never needed much in the circus, he takes some of them with the promise to order more in his size.

He’s left at loose ends and wanders through the Manor until he finds Bruce in a large room with a desk, sofa, and an actual fireplace. It’s as though he’s living in a storybook.

“Hey, Dick, did you want me for something? I just finished up a phone call.” Dick shakes his head. He doesn’t want anything he can have; he just wants to go back to how it all was before. He still hasn’t quite given up hope that this is all just a terrible dream.

Bruce stands up anyways and says, “Have you seen the media room? Today might be a good movie day.” 

Dick shrugs, uncaring. Bruce slings an arm around his shoulders and pulls him tight. Unbidden, warmth spreads through Dick.

They spend most of the day watching movies, but Dick can’t remember any of them later. He just drifts, existing without thinking, only aware of the warmth of Bruce pressing up against him. Alfred brought them lunch, and snacks, but Dick didn’t really want any of it. 

Around dinner, the doorbell rings. It echoes throughout the house, and Dick is ready to ignore when Bruce nudges Dick aside and says, “I’ll be right back, hang on.” Dick’s not going anywhere.

Bruce comes back, looking worried, and Dick feels a flicker of interest when he sees Bruce holding a bag. It’s probably just the clothes Alfred ordered; rich people can get anything quickly, but Bruce’s discomfort makes him sit up.

“Dick…” He trails off, and holds out the bag. Dick takes it. Inside are all of his parents’ clothes and costumes, and his own costumes. Throat tight and eyes damp, Dick looks up and chokes out, “How—” 

“I can’t imagine what I would have done without my parents’ things and I wasn’t going to let any pup under my care suffer through that.” Dick stares at him, and inhales the scent of his parents.

“I thought—well, when my parents’ died, the scent didn’t linger as long as I wanted. I thought we could seal up some of their clothes, to make it last longer.” Bruce is awkward again, but Dick hadn’t even  _ thought _ about how long the scent might last.

The thought of it fading away, bit by bit, and nothing to replace it. “Please,” he says, holding the bag out to Bruce. “That would be really nice.”

Bruce smiles at him and says, “Let’s sort through it together.”

\---

Bruce hadn’t considered the difficulties of keeping up a secret identity with a curious, clingy pup in the house. Dick follows him  _ everywhere _ , as a kid or as a pup. Bruce doesn’t blame him; he remembers how frightened he was every night that not even Alfred would be there in the morning.

Reluctantly, he calls Superman in to cover the city for a week. “Just a week, Clark. I’ve had something come up.”

“Are you injured?” Bruce is tempted to say yes, to avoid the topic of how he accidentally, illegally adopted a child, but Clark was raised in Kansas. He’d be at the front door with a casserole and concern before Bruce could hang up the phone. It’s happened before. Even pointing out that Bruce has a butler “who cooks for me, Clark, homemade food,” doesn’t stop it. Midwestern values are not so easily shaken off.

“No, I’m not injured. It’s—something has come up. Just a week, please.” He hangs up, unforgivably rude by Clark’s standards, except somehow Clark is somehow always willing to make an exception for him. Maybe he knows Bruce cannot fathom Midwestern expectations.

Bruce doesn’t want to take more than a week. He was at the circus for a reason, after all. There’s going to be a painful connection between rumors of the mafia demanding protection money and the sudden loss of their most profitable act. He hopes he can offer Dick the closure he’d never gotten for himself.

Surely, after a week, the pup won’t be sleeping in his bed anymore. Surely, Dick won’t wake up panicked every time Bruce tries to slip out of the bed. Surely, a week will be enough time.

\---

Dick knows Pop Haly told him not to make trouble in his new home, but he can’t stop himself from following Bruce. He needs to see him, to know he’s not alone. 

He spends some time with Alfred, but Alfred isn’t a wolf, isn’t his only pack, isn’t his alpha. As a wolf, Bruce understands his need for tactile comfort from the pack.

The third day, overwhelmed by a need to follow Bruce and filled with terror at overstepping and getting thrown out, he shifts. He won’t be as noticeable as a pup when he creeps into the study. 

Bruce, though, he notices everything. He notices when Dick needs a hug and needs space. He’s carefully not said anything about the way Dick is avoiding using his own big, empty room. And he notices when a wolf pup slinks into his study, trying to be inconspicuous.

“Hey, Dick.” Dick whuffs and jumps up on the sofa. “Everything ok?”

It’s a stupid question. They both know it’s stupid. Of course he’s not okay, his parents are  _ dead.  _ When he woke up and it hadn’t been a dream, his mom wasn’t cooking and his dad wasn’t waiting for him, he thought he’d die from grief. 

Nothing had ever hurt like that before. It still hurts.

He settles deeper into the study sofa, without responding. It’s easier to ignore Pop Haley’s warnings as a wolf.

“I’m glad you’re here, Dick.” Dick lifts his head to look at Bruce. “I wanted to let you know that next week I’ll have some nighttime meetings. WE does international business and sometimes that means 2 a.m. meetings. I’ll be doing some prep work before, too. I wouldn’t want you to wake up and worry if I’m gone.”

Gone? In the middle of the night? He does not like this  _ at all _ , but his human self reminds him not to make trouble. Instead of howling an objection, he whuffs and closes his eyes. He’ll manage.

\---

Dick stares with wide eyes around the Cave. He’d woken up alone and gone looking for Bruce. He wasn’t going to  _ bother _ him, he just needed to see that Bruce was okay. Instead, he found an empty study with a secret door half-open. He thought it was just a big, old house thing, to have a secret door that led to a basement or another part of the house, like in books or movies. He never expected to find an actual  _ cave _ .

There’s a huge computer, and a table like Dick saw at the doctor’s office when Bruce took him for a checkup. His gaze stops when he spots the bars.  _ Bars _ . He hasn’t climbed or swung from anything since the circus, but the desire to be weightless overwhelms him. He’s standing beneath them moments later, jumping up and swinging. There are only two, and he’s not even sure they’re meant for acrobatics, but he doesn’t care at all.

He’s floating, he’s flying, he’s carefully not thinking about his parents. He lands a jump, and looks up to see a car right in front of him. A big black car. A chill steals over him. He may not have been in Gotham very long, but Batman and his car are famous. He’s standing right in front of Batman’s car. He slowly turns around, studying the cave again.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh  _ no _ . Uncovering that Bruce Wayne is Batman is far beyond making trouble, it’s unforgivable. He didn’t mean to pry, but he went where he wasn’t invited, and when Bruce finds out he’s going to get kicked out. Or maybe killed. They say Batman doesn’t kill, but dead people wouldn’t come back to tell you about it. A cave would hide a lot of bodies.

A noise echoes deeper in the Cave, and Dick is running faster than he knew he could. He slams the clock door shut, and locks himself in his room. Fighting tears is a losing battle. He doesn’t want to get sent away; he’s starting to  _ like  _ it here. 

Bruce has been so kind. He understands dead parents, he got Dick  _ pictures _ and  _ scent _ , he doesn’t care that Dick is Romani and looks different, and Bruce is a wolf. Dick can still be part of a pack, here. But not for much longer, because eventually Bruce will know that he knows.

Or will he? No one knows he was down there. Why does anything have to change?

“Dick?” Bruce is calling for him.

Dick scrubs at his face, and realizes Bruce will just think the tears are for his mom and dad. They usually are. 

“Coming!” he calls back. 

No one has to know.

\---

The only good thing about finding the Cave is rediscovering his love for flying. He thought he’d buried it with his parents, but now he’s climbing everything. Alfred tuts at him a bit, but Bruce is always willing to catch him. Even when Dick surprises him, Bruce still catches him.  _ Because he’s Batman _ , Dick’s brain reminds him, and he shoves it back down.

He wishes he had bars and trapezes, and someone to help train him (he wishes he had his parents). Bruce has bought everything he’s needed, but he doesn’t think acrobatic equipment is something Bruce would buy him. It’s not something he  _ needs _ .

Instead, he’s getting very good at climbing unexpected places, which is how he finds himself on the chandelier one day while Bruce is pacing underneath, talking on his phone.

“You’re an investigative reporter,” Bruce says irritably, while Dick hangs upside down for fun. “I knew I didn’t  _ have  _ to tell you.”

“Well, sometimes I like a little privacy.” Dick pulls himself back up, wondering if he should tell Bruce he’s here. “Yes, I appreciate you covering the city for me, but no, I don’t need you to do it anymore.”

Now Dick definitely won’t say anything. Bruce is talking to someone who knows he’s Batman, and Dick can’t know he’s Batman, so Dick isn’t here.

“Of course you would, but I have something a little time sensitive and personal I’m working on.”

Dick tries a handstand, and the chandelier rattles a bit. He freezes, but Bruce doesn’t look up. He slowly lowers himself carefully back down, and vows not to move until Bruce is gone.

“Clark.” Oh great, something else to pretend he doesn’t know. Dick tries his best to forget the name. Bruce gives a deep sigh. “I think he deserves more closure than I ever got. Eventually, he’ll figure out the ropes were cut, not frayed, and it wasn’t an accident.”

Ice slides down his spine, to pool in his belly. His fingertips buzz and there’s a ringing in his ears.

“I’m making progress and I’ll tell him when I have something; I don’t want to upset him without more information.”

His parents were murdered. The information comes to him slowly, a growing knowledge he can’t stop. His parents were murdered. A tremor runs through him and the chandelier rattles. 

His parents were murdered. The ice is fading, melting by a white hot rage rising up. His parents were murdered. Another tremor; a louder rattle. His  _ parents _ were  _ murdered _ .

Bruce is still talking, but Dick can’t hear it. He looks down, rage making his vision hazy. Without thinking, he leaps down. When he pushes off, the chandelier makes a loud rattle and Bruce looks up.

“Oh my god—” Bruce drops the phone and reaches out his arms to catch him. His parents will never catch him again, because they were  _ murdered _ .

“Who was it?” He demands, voice shaking with rage, twisting out of Bruce’s arms onto the ground, turning to face him. “Who murdered them?”

“Dick.” Bruce’s phone rings, and he picks it up and silences it without looking away from Dick. “The police are—”

“The police don’t  _ care _ about circus people.” A distant part of his mind is screaming at him to shut up, to calm down, to not ruin this. Dick doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything anymore.  _ His parents were murdered _ . “You’re looking into it. You’re Batman.” 

Bruce’s phone rings again. He answers without looking and says, “I’m fine. There’s a situation, I’ll call you back.” He hangs up, still keeping his eyes locked on Dick. “I don’t know why you think I’m Batman, but—”

“You don’t need to lie to me.” Dick’s voice is starting to rise. “You left the door in the clock open, and I saw the Cave! Who killed my parents?” His demand rings out in the room, followed by a suffocating silence.

Bruce is looking at him, something in his eyes Dick can’t name.

“Who killed my parents?” His voice is a whisper, now, a plea.

“I don’t know yet.” Bruce sounds gentle, and Dick hates it.

“Then what are we doing here?” Dick didn’t know his voice could be this cold. “Let’s go figure it out. What do we need to do?”

“Dick, this isn’t something you need to do.”

Dick laughs in disbelief. He hasn’t laughed since his parents died, and he wishes he wasn’t now. The sound is harsh, bitter; it washes through him and leaves him feeling empty. “Someone murdered my parents and you expect me to do nothing?”

An odd look comes into Bruce’s eyes and he says, “No, I suppose not.” Dick just looks at him, waiting for him to move, to lead the way, to do  _ something _ .

\---

Bruce leads him down into the Cave, silently. He knows involving an eight year old in his parents’ murder is not something one ususally does. He can hear Alfred’s lecture already. But when he was faced with all the fury and grief in that small body, Bruce felt like he was facing himself.

He would have done  _ anything _ to get justice for his parents, done anything to find their murderer. It was a driving force in his journey to become Batman, the reason he could remain motivated in the face of all the pain, all the failures, all the obstacles. Sometimes he felt that desire for justice was the only reason he was able to withstand Alfred’s lectures. He certainly couldn’t deny a child something he’s wanted his entire life.

Pulling up the file, he talks Dick through what he knows.

“I just haven’t figured out who they would have sent—”

“I know.” His quiet voice tugs at Bruce.

“You know?”

“I saw him, talking to Pop Haly that night, I thought...I thought he was an angry customer, and Pop was going to talk him down.” The flatness of Dick’s voice is almost unnerving. “It was weird, because Pop was angry and usually he’s really nice. I can recognize him if you show me pictures.”

Bruce silently pulls up the men he’d labeled most likely. He flips through them one by one until Dick points and says, “That one.”

Anthony Zucco.

Just a lower level mobster, and he took away Dick’s entire world. Bruce thought he’d be angrier, but instead he finds himself worried about Dick.

“I can go out tonight and interrogate him.” Bruce somehow feels like he’s asking, rather than telling.

  
“We.”

“We?” Bruce has a sinking sensation in his stomach.

“ _ We _ can go out tonight and interrogate him.” 

Bruce saw this coming, he really did, but he still isn’t prepared. 

Logically, he shouldn’t bring an eight year old to confront his parent’s murderer. There’s increased risk of their identities being exposed, it’s likely to be traumatizing and violent, and it may not even be Zucco. But Bruce knows he’s not going to listen to logic. His heart looks at the angry, grieving boy and he knows he could never keep his pup away from justice. It’ll just have to be carefully managed, so justice doesn’t shift into revenge.

\---

It’s silent on the way back to the Cave. Dick spent most of the evening silent, in fact. Bruce was prepared to talk to him down, to talk about him about justice, about humanity, but it hadn’t been necessary.

Dick had understood the need for secrecy, had worn a mask without complaint. He’d insisted on an outfit cobbled together from his costumes at the circus, in eye-searing shades of green and red. Bruce winced, but didn’t object. He asked if Dick needed help coming up with a code name, suggested Agent R, but Dick quietly said, “Robin. My mom called me Robin.”

Bruce made it very clear that Zucco _could_ _not know_ that Dick’s parents were the victims. It would put their lives at risk, and might even impede the justice they both badly wanted. 

When they finally found Zucco in a run-down apartment, Dick stood back quietly as Bruce extracted a confession. He said nothing as Bruce dropped off Zucco and the recorded confession for the GCPD.

Dick is still saying nothing.

Bruce wonders if he needs to break the silence, to reassure his youngest pack member, but the silence is too heavy. Words won’t come.

It’s not until they’re standing in the Cave that he notices Dick is faintly trembling. Dick peels off the mask, not looking at Bruce, and says, “Can it be another pack, please?”

Bruce is confused. “Another pack?” 

“When I—the social workers told me you were able to get me to stay with you without being a foster parent, so you can get what you want, and I thought maybe—” He stops, his trembling more noticeable, and forces out, “Can you make sure I get placed with wolves? I like—” he cuts off again, staring at the ground.

A rush of cold washes over Bruce. Dick wants to leave?

“Dick, I—” He’s not sure what to say. Should he not have brought Dick into Gotham? He thought that’s what Dick wanted, what he  _ needed _ . He wanted to give Dick a chance at closure, maybe even enough closure to keep him from seeing his parents’ bodies for the rest of his life.

“ _ Please _ , Bruce. You don’t have to say it. I know. I know I need to leave, just  _ please, _ make them give me to another wolf.” Dick still won’t meet his eyes.

Bruce takes a step forward, needing to comfort his pup, needing to figure out what’s going on. He stops abruptly when Dick flinches back.

“Dick,” Bruce says helplessly, confused. Ice slides through him when he realizes Dick is crying, sees that _his_ _pup_ is crying.

“I didn’t mean to,” Dick says as his breath starts to hitch. Bruce knows by now that means he’s losing the battle against his tears, but Dick _still won’t_ _look at him_. “But I’d do it again, my parents—he couldn’t just get _away_ with it—“

Dick finally looks up at him and, at the sight of his tears, Bruce reaches for him again.

He steps back, sobbing, “Don’t! Don’t pretend like—like it’s not all  _ ruined _ , like  _ I _ didn’t ruin it by poking around and finding the Cave and—and  _ lying _ about it, and climbing where I’m not wanted and—”

Bruce doesn’t understand, but his pup needs him. Ignoring Dick’s objections, he kneels down and wraps his arms around his pup. The armor can’t be very comfortable, but Dick sags into it regardless, weeping. 

“I’m sorry, Bruce, I’m so  _ sorry _ .” His voice is muffled, and defeated. “I know it doesn’t make anything better, but I’m really sorry.”

Bruce scoops him up. He can’t figure out what’s wrong, Dick doesn’t seem to be able to explain, and his  _ pup is crying _ . Instinct flares up, and he needs to get them to the safety of the den. He forgets that they’re still in costume, standing up and lifting Dick. He carries his pup, still sobbing, up the stairs, through the Manor, and into his den.

\---

Dick doesn’t understand. He knew Bruce was going to send him away, knew he’d been too much trouble, but Bruce is carrying him into the den and putting him on the bed. Dick loves this den and cries harder to think of losing it. He curls up, crying hopelessly. Why is he here if Bruce is just going to send him away?

Bruce finishes taking off his Batman costume and gathers Dick back up into arms. It feels so good and safe, but it’s not going to last, and Dick wishes Bruce wouldn’t do this right before throwing him out. When Bruce bends his head to kiss Dick’s hair, he cries out, “ _ Please _ , Bruce, don’t send me away!”

Bruce’s arms tighten suddenly, and he lets out a breathless squeak. It’s hard to cry when you can’t breathe, but Bruce’s arms loosen almost immediately. He kisses Dick’s head and says, “I’m not sending you away. I’m  _ never _ sending you away.”

Dick stiffens. It’s a lie, it has to be a lie, and he says, “But I—I found the Cave, and eavesdropped on you, and made you take me out into Gotham and—Pop Haly told me if I was too much trouble, you’d throw me out on the streets.” Bruce stiffens in outrage and Dick hastily clarifies, “But I know you wouldn’t just leave me on the streets, you’d at least give me back to social services, but I want to stay with—I like being with wolves, and if you could at least see if they can find me a home with wolves—” If he’s not with wolves, he really has no connection to his parents.

Bruce cuts him off. “I’m not throwing you out. You didn’t  _ make  _ me take you into Gotham. I wanted you to see your parents get justice; it’s something I’ve never gotten. You’re part of my pack, Dick,  _ nothing  _ will change that.”

Why doesn’t Bruce  _ understand _ ? “But I snuck into the Cave and—” 

“You said I left the door open. That’s on me. I told you that you could go anywhere in the Manor, and if I leave a  _ secret door _ open, that’s not on you, sweetie, that’s on me.” Bruce did tell him he could go wherever he wanted.

Dick sniffles against Bruce’s chest, and there’s silence for a moment. 

“But up in the chandelier…” Dick trails off, because eavesdropping has to be unforgivable.

Bruce sighs. “I know you love to climb; that’s who you  _ are _ . I’d prefer if you didn’t climb on some of the furniture, especially the chandeliers, but that’s why I’m setting up a gymnasium for you. We had too many ballrooms anyways; repurposing one just made sense.”

There’s a pause. Bruce is making him a gym? Bruce is turning a  _ ballroom _ into a gym? Just for Dick?

The fear of being abandoned is slowly fading; Bruce’s warmth is slowly seeping through him.

“You’re part of my pack,” Bruce says again. “You don’t have to be perfect or follow all the rules. You’re going to make mistakes.  _ I _ am going to make mistakes. But I’m never,  _ ever  _ throwing you out. This is your home, as long as you want it.”

Home usually makes Dick think of the circus, and Zitka, and all the people he might never see again. The idea of home usually hurts him.

Tonight, snuggling in a den, knowing his alpha is turning an actual ballroom into a gym just for him, Dick thinks that might change. If Bruce is never getting rid of him, if he really doesn’t have to worry about causing trouble, and he caused so much trouble but Bruce is still keeping him, then this might actually be his home.

He yawns and shifts without thought, curling up against Bruce. Between one blink and the next, his alpha is there, keeping him warm and safe. He’s exhausted; his feelings have been a rollercoaster since he found his parents were murdered. Now he’s safe, content, and unafraid. He sinks down into sleep.

\---

Two years later, a small and brightly colored boy is seen swinging through the cities with Batman. He calls himself Robin.

**Author's Note:**

> Bruce adopts him. I obviously don’t care about canon, so Bruce officially adopts him. Just so you know, for the ‘verse


End file.
